The next few days passed in a blur. Very little of it stands out in my mind. A slight fever, caused by the cold I’d picked up before we left for London. Mrs Giovanni took it upon herself to care for me, while my grandfather caught up with the master of the house. Mrs Giovanni was kind but busy—she had a rather large household to oversee. Giovanni employed numerous staff to help with his experiments. I ended up being left to my own devices. I read solidly. By mid morning the second day I was so bored I couldn’t focus on the words in front of my face anymore than I could fly. It was about then I found I had company.

I’m not sure how it happened, or even when. I suppose that my subconscious had decided I was lonely and I needed a friend. Like the imaginary friends I’d had when I was little. And since I’d already decided I liked Ash, that was why my imaginary companion had taken on his form. He was exactly like he’d been in the portrait, except thinner, and well transparent. "Don’t get me wrong," I told him. "I really like talking to you. But you’ve got to stop distracting me when other people are in the room. If I keep talking to myself people will think I’m nuts."

"Don’t worry about them," Ash advised. "I think I read somewhere that talking to yourself is not a sign of madness."

"Oh?" I said.

"It’s when you start talking back you’ve got to worry."

I sigh. "And what just happened? I can’t believe I’m arguing with a figment of my imagination."

"And just who says I’m a figment of your imagination?"

"You see? I knew you were going to say that. Look would you stop arguing with me?"

"You’re the one who started it," Ash said, finishing by sticking out his tongue.

More irritating that the fact he was only imaginary was the fact that I couldn’t beat him in an argument. I employed my grandfather’s trick of rustling the papers of my Washington Irving collection impatiently.

"Do you want me to keep reading you this or not?"

He immediately became complacent. "I’m sorry."

"You’d better be."

We finished Rip Van Winkle. "That was a good story," Ash said from where his head rested against my shoulder.

"I thought you’d like it."

"Do you think things like that really happen?"

I snort. "Not outside of books. No, there’s a rational explanation for everything."

"Everything?"

"Of course. That’s why I’m a scientist."

"Really?"

He was cute when he was annoying. I didn’t like to admit that I was having trouble finding a rational explanation for how he was semi transparent and yet warm when he lent against me. I just hope he didn’t ask me to

"Explain me, Mr American scientist."

"I have. Didn’t you hear me tell you, you were a figment of my imagination?"

"And what if I don’t want to be?"

"What you want doesn’t come into it. You what ever I want you to be, unless you’re a ghost."

"Am not!"

"Well then you’re my imagination. Now be quiet so I can read you this one. I think you’ll like it. ‘The Spectre Bridegroom."

"Who are you reading to?"

"No-one," I looked up to see my grandfather. Ash had left so gradually I failed to notice it. I never noticed him come or go, he just did.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better I guess. Not well enough to go on a trip with you and Mr Giovanni though."

"You don't have to feel guilty about being sick. Giovanni's a decent man, he'll understand," my grandfather patted my shoulder. "Just concentrate on getting well."

"Will do," I smiled as he left.

I picked up the book and waited a few minutes, then started to read out loud again. After about ten minutes with no interruptions I stopped.

"Ash?"

Nothing.

"He's gone. You can come out now."

Still nothing. "Next time I invent an imaginary friend, I'm going to get one that's punctual," I muttered to myself.

I read a bit more but my attention wasn’t in it. I was bored, bored enough to contemplate getting out of bed. When Mrs Giovanni came by to check on me I mentioned this to her.

"I thought I might just go for a stroll around the grounds, you know, just to have a look. Nothing strenuous . . ." I blinked as she walked out on me in the middle of a sentence. Was that a no?

However she returned carrying three jackets which she proceeded to bundle me up in. Thus attired, I was led to the front door and seen off with all the ceremony befitting the launch of a small boat. There was a lot of hand waving which I took to be directions. I set off around the house.

Giovanni’s house had a quite considerable amount of land attached to the back of it, enough for a small park. I wandered up and down the lanes, looking at the various terrains and wondering what on earth they were for. It finally struck me—they were for the pokemon used in Giovanni’s experiments. Well at least they had been . . . I shuddered, thinking of his son’s grisly end.

I ended up sitting by a small pond. The water was soothing and I needed a distraction. Giovanni’s house had a somewhat unpleasant aspect to put it mildly, and dwelling on the tragedy of it’s past did nothing to help my mood. I think I’d been sitting there for about ten minutes when there was a splash and the water’s parted to reveal an most unexpected sight.

Miss Waterflower.

"Miss Waterflower?"

She spun around on hearing her name, whipping her hands round behind her back.

"What? You—how dare you—Spy on me!" she spluttered.

I admit I was surprised. Where I come from well bred young ladies generally do not step out of lakes and if the do, they would be more graceful about it. I took umbrage at the fact she immediately assumed I was spying on her.

"Excuse me," I said coldly. "I was just sitting down on this bench to take a rest. I had no idea you were anywhere in the vicinity . . . then again I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in the lake."

"I happen to like water pokemon," Miss Waterflower said. "They’re a special interest of mine."

"Which is why you went swimming. I see."

She glared at me. "May I go now? I’ve no wish to catch my death of cold."

"I’m surprised you didn’t catch your death by drowning," I said. "I don’t mean to be rude but how do you manage to swim with all those skirts on."

"I hardly think that is an appropriate question," Misty said, with a defiant toss of her curls. "Now if there’s nothing further, I’ll be off."

She stalked off.

"Interesting," I mused. She’d been under the water at least ten minutes . . . how had I missed her coming up for a breath?

"This just gets more and more confusing," I said aloud. "I’d give my autographed copy of ‘A Study in Scarlet’ to know what is really going on in this place."

"I suggest you don’t try to find out."

Ash was back.

"Please, Garrick. Don’t get involved."

"It’s too late for that," I told my imaginary companion. "My grandfather agreed to help Goodwin find out what the matter with his fiancé was, and until he’s decided to go I’m stuck here and as long as I’m stuck here I’ll be asking questions. I can’t help it, I think I was born like that."

"This is serious! You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into!"

"Well it’s obvious things aren’t right. Look at Miss Waterflower—she’s scared that’s for sure. Then there’s other things that don’t make sense. Her hair—it’s in the latest style, she obviously reads the woman’s fashion pages because they’re never in the Times when I get to read it, and yet she’s still wearing long sleeves and they went out of fashion seasons ago . . .come to think of it, she kept her hands behind her back the entire time she was talking to me. That was fairly suspicious . . ."

"Leave Misty alone!" Ash said, planting himself directly in front of me. I blinked at the determination in his eyes. My imagination was working overtime. . .

"We’re doing this for her own good, you know." I told him. "I don’t think Mrs Giovanni is quite all there although she is nice . . . but her husband gives me the creeps. I think she’d be better off—"

"Don’t talk about my parents that way!" Ash pointed a shaking finger at me.

"You wouldn’t like it if I talked about Popo that way! Interesting. My imaginary friend was creating imaginary friends of his own. Not to mention a family--time to nip this in the bud . . .

"You’re only a figment of my imagination. They’re not really your family, it’s impossible. You only exist because I got bored, you’re not really real . . ."

"Oh?" Ash said, glaring at me, holding one palm up to me. "Then tell me this isn’t real!"

I’m not really sure how to explain the next few minutes. I know relatively little of the tricks the human mind can play, and I think I’d have to consult a psychologist (or more likely several) to be able to say with certainty what transpired.

Suffice to say that I found myself sitting in the pond.

For a moment Ash and I just stared at each other. Then I shut my eyes.

"This didn’t just happen," I told myself. "Or if it did, then what happened isn’t what I think happened because I did not just get pushed into the pond by a figment of my imagination."

"I’m so sorry! I forgot you were sick!" Ash’s hand brushed my shoulder then released me. "I’ll go and get help."

I ignored him. "It’s all in my mind, it’s all in my mind."

When I opened my eyes Ash was gone. It had worked. However I was still in the pond.

"You appear to have had an interesting afternoon," my grandfather said.

"A little too interesting if you ask me," I replied dryly. After deciding he was probably entitled to fair warning that his ward was going insane I’d told him the events of the entire afternoon. "Do you think I’m mad?"

"I think you’re sick. And probably reacting badly to the air of this place—I have to admit Giovanni could have picked a more cheerful abode," my grandfather answered kindly.

I smiled. "You’re right . . . I suppose I’m kind of overwrought. Falling into the pond didn’t help . . . I’m lucky James and Mrs Giovanni were on hand to pull me out." I shake my head. I’m still not entirely sure how that happened. But that’s not the only weird thing that I’ve come up with. "Popo," I muse, wondering how on earth my subconscious came up with that.

My grandfather starts to choke.

"Are you all right?" I ask anxiously after I’m thumped him on the back again a few times. "Do you want me to ring for anything?"

"Tea would be nice," he gasps.

I summon a servant and then turn back to him anxiously. "Are you sure you’re all right? What happened?"

"You said something," my grandfather says, taking my hand. "What was it?"

"What—you mean Popo?" I shrug. "I didn’t even mean to say that out loud. It was something my imaginary Ash came up with this afternoon, saying I should be nice to his parents and I wouldn’t like it if he—Grandfather you’re hurting my hand. Really—could you just let go?"

"Garrick," my grandfather says. "Have you been talking to anyone at all about Ashton. Anyone?"

"Only Mrs Giovanni and you, and well, she hasn’t said much."

"Garrick, I’m an old man. Please tell me truthfully, this isn’t a trick you’re playing? You haven’t found an old journal of his or anything."

"No and if I had I wouldn’t read it! You know me better than that!" I respond.

My grandfather let’s go of my by now throbbing hand and wipes his forehead with his kerchief. Jessie comes in and lays the tea out in silence then leaves us to pour our own. I’m surprised. My grandfather usually makes a point of thanking servants.

"What’s wrong?" I ask.

"Shigeru," he says quietly. "When Ashton was a very little child he had trouble with my title. Professor is rather a hard word for a small child, so he came up with a nick-name, that stuck. He used to call me ‘Popo’."

"Popo," I repeat.

"The only people that knew about that name were me, Delia, Giovanni and Ashton. No-one else. Then you just come and say it—it’s too much to be a coincidence."

"You’re not seriously thinking . . . he’s not real."

"It would explain why Delia and James found you so quickly."

"No . . ." I said, felling my nice ordered world disappearing. "That was coincidence."

"Possibly Garrick. But I doubt it," My grandfather stood up slowly. "I must go to bed. This visit is making me realise I am no longer a young man . . ."

I let him go. I have a lot to think about . . . a lot.